


In For a Penny

by Ivy_Adair



Series: Fallout Kink Meme [5]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: ASMR References, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fallout Kink Meme, Fantasizing, Guilt, Masturbation, No Endgame Spoilers, Pining, Porn With Plot, Power Armor, Pre-Relationship, Sexual Fantasy, de-anon, guilty masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 17:31:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5257403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivy_Adair/pseuds/Ivy_Adair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paladin Danse wants her, even though he knows its wrong. Based on a Kink Meme prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In For a Penny

**Author's Note:**

> Read the prompt: [ here.](http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/6099.html?thread=15770579#t15770579)
> 
> With everything going on, writing porn was weirdly therapeutic. People on the meme liked it, so I figured I'd repost it here. FYI there are probably glaring errors. I am not fully in my right state of mind, so I apologize.
> 
> Please note this fic **does not** contain endgame spoilers. The only spoilers are minor references to the beginning of the game, the method in which the Brotherhood shows up in the Commonwealth and the first quest with Paladin Danse.

He can hear the soft sigh she lets out as the last ghoul falls; the soft crackle of her breath into his earpiece sends a rush of tingles down his side. In a moment, she has the helmet off and he can see the sweat-matted blonde locks of her hair peeking out from underneath the hood of her fatigues. She flashes him a bright smile, full of teeth whiter and straighter than he’s ever seen on anyone, Wastelander or Brotherhood besides. She’s an odd spot in his world and there’s something about her that just doesn’t quit fit in with everything else. 

There’s still so much mystery about her, the woman who appeared out of nowhere to rescue him and his team in their hour of need. She’d been wearing a blue vault suit then, with nothing but a dog at her side. But, all one needed was to find a scavver who’d risked going into one of those pre-war tombs to find a vault suit. She went to ArcJet Systems with him and faced down the Synth threat without blinking. From his experience with the Wastelanders both in the Commonwealth and the Capital Wasteland, he figured most people would have run screaming at the first opportunity. Not her; instead she drew her gun, an ancient 10mm, and edged herself out so that she was kneeling in front of him as she took her time making clean shots into the Synth’s head casing. 

He gave her his best weapon; unsure why he’d done it other than it just felt like the right thing to do. Her weapon was in poor condition, he told himself. A woman as obviously capable as herself needed something to help her out in the wastes, especially a woman who so seemed to embody the same ideals as he. She’d hesitated when he asked her to join the Brotherhood afterwards and Danse had accepted that when she had walked away from him outside of ArcJet that he’d never see her again. 

He was wrong. 

Five weeks after they parted and one since the Prydwen had roared into the Commonwealth, the door opened and in the entrance he saw her again, blonde hair free from her cap and perfectly coiffed like some sort of old-world magazine. She was pristine; the woman looked every inch the old world relic, something only seen in the Brotherhood’s archives, right down to the shining red lacquer on her fingertips. 

“I’m Penelope,” she announced, holding out her hand. “Penelope Owens.”

He could remember taking her hand - so small compared to the glove of his power armor - into his and shaking it as gingerly as possible. She fixed that piercing gaze of hers - the one that felt like it could rip any secret he kept from his lips without trying - onto him and let the ferocity of her determination bear down on him. 

“I’ve given some thought to your offer. I will give it a go.”

He’d seen her in action and there was no denying she was capable soldier, despite all the mystery surrounding her. She took orders well, but also had the capacity to think on her feet when the situation called for it. She even took to wearing power armor well, something not every Wastelander could boast. When given the opportunity, he sized her up compared to the other fresh recruits. Unlike the malnourished and wiry Wastelanders, Penelope was softness. Gentle curves that he had no business noticing. She had to be vault-born, nothing else made sense. 

“Paladin Danse?” Her voice, gentle but firm pulls him from his memories.

He clears his throat. “Excellent work, soldier.”

“I think the Scribe has finished her search. Time to escort her back to the Prydwen?” she asks, the barest hint of a pink tongue poking through her red lips. She paints them, like her nails, he decides. 

“Affirmative,” he answers, grateful for the sudden urge to return to his responsibilities. Duty is easy, safe, something he can step into without thinking. Noticing that the color of his subordinate’s eyes are the same shade of blue as the Commonwealth sky is wrong, inappropriate for a man in his position. He can see her looking at him, one sculpted brow perked higher than the other, so he adds: “I think we’ve earned ourselves some rack time. Let’s move out, soldier.”

She smiles, more a quirk of lips than anything else as she pulls her helmet back over her face, locking it to her armor with a soft hiss. She takes point, as always and he watches their rear, this time they have the added gun of the Scribe talking between them. Danse found himself all at once grateful and frustrated with the focused silence between them. He had become quite close with Penelope- rather, Knight Owens, and was proud to call the woman his friend. At the same time, she was technically his subordinate and some conversations that were appropriate for the two of them in a more relaxed setting were not at all appropriate on a mission with a Scribe present. Yet, being alone with his thoughts meant his mind drifting to places that he shouldn’t, _couldn’t_ go - red lips parting, pink tongue lapping gently at the head of his cock - no, it was wrong in so many ways. 

. . .

After they’ve reported back to Proctor Quinlan, she makes a beeline for armor bay number three. Her headset is still active and he can hear the way she sighs in pleasure as they heavy metal suit opens up. Danse clenches his fist, wanting to fight back at his body for the tingles drifting down his spine. She’s in her fatigues and pulling the hood off of her head a moment later, smiling up at him. Never before in his life has he ever wanted to reach and brush the hair out of someone’s eyes until now. He pushes the thought aside, willing his beating heart to calm as he heads for bay four and steps out of his armor. He looks up as he reaches for the hood of his fatigues and sees her bending over, checking something on the leg of armor. The curve of her backside imbeds itself into his mind and suddenly he can’t remember the last time he’d been with a woman. Images of him behind her, taking her right in the armory as she clings to that yellow power armor frame explode into his head. His breath catches as he turns away and forces himself to calm down, knowing that the fatigues will do little to hide a raging erection. For once, he considers himself lucky he’s not some young initiate who can be ready to go at a moment’s notice. 

“Danse!” she calls. “Are you okay?”

He turns, hoping she can’t see the beads of sweat on his forehead. “I’m doing well, soldier.”

They fall into stride automatically, talking softly about their op as they make their way towards their respective quarters. The mess hall is a jumble of people, all vying for their meals and what little R’n’R they have and more than once Penelope has to step out of the way of someone. All at once, someone bumps into her wrong and she stumbles. Without thinking Danse reaches for her and draw her into his firm arms. Her body is warm softness against the hard planes of his person. He can feel the gentle curve of her hips beneath his hands and for a single, agonizing moment they’re both frozen and locked into each other’s gaze. The moment passes as she reaches for the gold band hanging from a cord around her neck and she pulls away from him. Danse’s body is still electrified, but he can’t get his mouth to form an apology or comment, so he’s left staring at her. She’s an incredible woman, no doubt about it, but she’s still his Knight and he her Paladin and CO, not to mention mentor and sponsor. He can’t, he won’t think about the way she might look underneath those fatigues. The tension between them is thick, but he knows that Penelope is not the sort of woman who’d scurry away from embarrassment. So, he takes the initiative to pay her a kindness and leaves first. 

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding as the door shuts behind him. He rips the hood off of his head and used the cloth to wipe at the sweat on his brow. Head falling back into the door with a dull thud, Danse will himself to calm down. After a moment of deep breathing, reciting the T-60 armor manual in his head, he pushes off the door and paces in his room. Finally, he stops as he rests his right forearm against the wall next to his head and buries his face in the crook of his elbow. His body is on fire as images of Penelope rush through his mind at an alarming speed. God, it has been so long. Before he knows it, his hand drifts down and he cups himself through his thick fatigues. He can’t feel the heat or shape of his hand, but the light, squeezing pressure against his growing erection feels nice. It’s not too much of a stretch for him to suddenly imagine Penelope’s red-tipped fingers squeezing him and sucking redlined kisses into the tender flesh of his throat. It’s a little, but it’s not enough, nowhere near. He unzips his fatigues to his waist before pushing them down, having to dance a little because he’s too afraid to move far from his position. He knows its wrong, thinking about her like this. He’s supposed to be the example, the element that she should look up to for guidance. He should never want to touch her, peel the clothes from her body and bury his face in the nape of her neck. 

But he does. 

Cupping himself in his left hand, he strokes down once, gently as Penelope’s smile widens. In his mind she’s standing in front of him in the armory, still clad in her power armor, smiling wickedly. He can hear the armor hiss in his head as he brings his hand to his mouth and spits. His palm is back on his cock as she steps down from the armor and the sudden flash of bare skin sends a lick of fire through his body. She teases him in his mind, snaking a leg around the armor before swinging her body out. His breath hitches in his chest as he realizes she’s completely naked. 

“D’you like what you see?” she murmurs. Danse bites back a groan as he pumps himself a little harder, but still a teasing stroke to bring himself to full. Her elegant hands trail down her body, cup her breasts and tug at her dusky nipples as two white teeth dig into the apple-red flesh of her mouth. 

The din of the armory dies down to silence, as she hoists herself up on the armor workbench. He’s fully erect now, in the real world, his cock aching for more. He stops teasing and circles the head with his thumb, not bothering to fight the shiver that passes through his body. In his mind, Penelope scoots her ass forward on the bench and lewdly splays her legs open, fingers running down the insides of her thighs. He can see her, _all_ of her and in his mind she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He goes to her, naked already, and fills the void between her spread thighs. She throws her head back and laughs deeply, breasts lightly brushing against his chest from the motion. Even in his mind he’s almost afraid to touch her. His hands fill dirty and clumsy against her, but she arches her back and moans as he tentatively strokes the curve of her waist. 

She leans in whispers his whole name, which he knows he never told her but the sound of it falling from her lips in that soft breath pulls a grunt from his chest. Finally, he leans down and kisses her fully, properly. Her mouth is as sweet as Nuka Cola and the fingers she kneads into his scalp are like fire she moans into his mouth as he drifts his fingers over her breasts. He circles her areolas with his index finger and she cants her hips, a soft whine escaping her throat. He smirks and uses the sides of his thumbnail to scrape ever so slightly against the very tip of her nipples. She breaks the kiss and to rest her forehead against his shoulder and grunt. In his mind he drops down, bending a little at the waist and neck in such a way that he knows he’d regret in real life, but all thoughts of that banish as he starts to twist his hand a little at the end of each stroke. He takes her nipple in his mouth and her hands are digging into the top of his scalp, tugging at his short hair. He lathes it with his tongue, suckling as she moans. 

“Please; Lord all-mighty, Danse, _please_ ” she whispers, hips rocking back and forward desperately. 

He smiles around her delicate flesh before he drops fully to his knees and throws both of her legs over his shoulders. He’s licking and nipping along the inside of her thighs, going right to the junction where they connect with the rest of her but stopping just before he reaches the apex. She’s hissing soft almost-curses, which causes his real self to smile. He pauses long enough to blow a soft puff of air against her before using his fingers to spread her and dive in. She keens as he licks her long ways, tongue lightly brushing against her clitoris. She tastes like heaven. Danse licks her again, but stops to circle her sensitive nub once before he moves his hands away from her outer lips to dig into the soft, immaculate flesh of her thighs. He strokes his hands around to pick her up by the buttocks and haul her closer in, allowing her to grind against his face. He teases the soft folds of her inner lips with his tongue before he closes his lips around her clitoris. His real cock twitches as she cries out his name and he’s so close, too close. He’s in for a penny now and knows it’d be no less wrong to shift the fantasy something else before he loses control. 

He’s breathing hard as he stops his frantic strokes, opting instead to give himself gentle, teasing tugs as he lets the new scene set in his mind. Penelope is in his bed, naked on top of the sheets. She beckons to him with one finger, lips curling up into a coy smile. 

“Paladin Danse,” she calls breathily, one hand trailing down her belly to disappear between her thick thighs. “I want you, I _need_ you.”

He’s on her in a blink of his eye, nestled between her legs once again. His mouth crashes against hers, tongue hungrily seeking out the honeyed warmth of her mouth. She drags her nails down his chest, just firm enough to scrape and a hiss escapes both versions of himself. Her hand is on his cock, her thumb circling his seeping head just as his real does. She guides him to her entrance, and looks up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. 

“Please.” 

He slides inside of her in one stroke, a groan escaping himself as he imagines just how hot she is. “Penelope,’ he grunts, out loud as he begins thrusting into his palm. He hooks one of her legs over his shoulder as he pistons his hips into hers. She cants her hips in time to meet him, soft whimpering gasps of pleasure tumbling from her parted lips. Danse is fucking his hand, shoulders and back tensing up as he feels his balls tighten. In his mind, she gasps, clenching down on him.

“I love you,” she yells, as the orgasm seems to rock through her. 

He grunts with surprise as he tumbles over the edge, coming in thick spurts. He pauses, his chest heaving as he breathes hard. The last part took him by surprise and now he’s left not only with the guilt of what he’s done, but the curiosity of why that particular fantasy ended that way. He sighs, shivers as he strokes the last remnants of his aftershocks. He lifts his head from where he buried it in his arm, unsurprised to find teeth marks over the weathered skin. The guilt sets in immediately as Danse searches for a cloth to clean up the mess he’s made. 

After, as he lies down on his bare mattress he lets his thoughts drift to her again. She was a mystery; from the way she asked what ghouls were to the gold band on the cord around her neck. He feels the soft glow of warmth pool in his chest as he finds himself wondering if she’d ever trust him enough to tell him what happened to her. He knows it’s foolish to hold out the hope that any moment in his fantasy would ever come to pass. But, deep down he knows that things will never be the same for him again and despite how wrong it is and he knows he wants her more than anything in the wastes.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed. As always you can find me on my tumblr at [dear-miss-adair](http://dear-miss-adair.tumblr.com). If you enjoyed this work, please consider leaving me a kudos or a comment. It's a nice way of telling me that you didn't think it was the worst thing you've ever read.
> 
> Or, hey, if it was the worst thing you ever read leave me a comment and tell me that too.


End file.
